


The Unexpected Kindness of the Air

by isoscele



Category: Lumberjanes
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Jerome the Normal Guy, Sphinxes, The Zodiac Cabin, me 6 months later sobbing with armfuls of adoption papers: i can't protect them, me: i should write a fic about the zodiacs as a fun challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28804230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isoscele/pseuds/isoscele
Summary: Hes thinks Diane deserves a break. The rest of the cabin helps, kind of.Featuring ghost squirrels, a nondefinitive ranking of the bestStar Jumpepisodes, and some things that don't have to be earned.
Relationships: Diane/Hes (Lumberjanes)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 10





	The Unexpected Kindness of the Air

**Author's Note:**

> My goal for this fic was twofold: to write something about the Zodiacs, and to write something that wasn't a huge bummer for once. I . . . kind of succeeded?
> 
> A few notes:  
> -This takes place sometime after the Freya arc, but does not contain spoilers for any specific arc. I am not caught up on the comics, and have not read Issue 75.  
> -This fic includes my take on Vanessa. Vanessa is the Zodiac Cabin's counselor, who is mentioned in one of the novelizations. We do not have any information about Vanessa. We do not know where Vanessa is, or why she hasn't appeared in the comics. Everything here is my own headcanon. My version of Vanessa uses she/they pronouns, which I alternate when referring to them, so keep that in mind when reading the sections that include her!  
> -Title is from the Mary Oliver poem ["The Waterfall"](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=157&issue=4&page=7)

Diane’s birthday, according to Diane, is the thirty-second of Novembuary, 0000. 

Despite literally everything else about Diane, this is the thing that bugs Hes the most. 

“If she doesn’t have one, it’s whatever,” she tells Barney while they’re rolling out cookies for the harpies. “She could just say so.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want the reminder,” Barney says. “That she . . . you know, isn’t like us. Doesn’t have a life like ours.”

“She used her magic powers eighteen times before breakfast this morning,” Hes says. “She made Mackenzie’s alarm clock play Smash Mouth in thirty-second increments. She  _ dimmed the sun  _ because it was in her eyes too early.”

Barney shrugs, looking apologetic. “It’s probably different.”

“Her toothbrush speaks Ancient Greek,” Hes says. 

“Denton is very nice,” they say firmly. “I won’t have you slandering Denton before you’ve even really made an effort to get to know him.”

“If she doesn’t care, I don’t care,” Hes says. “I’d just like to know. We could celebrate in July or something. It wouldn’t be weird.”

“No way is Diane not a Gemini,” Wren pipes up from her stool. 

Hes pauses in her frosting to be deeply, eternally disappointed in her entire cabin and also every decision that has led her up to this point.

“We can make a pun about zodiacs here,” Barney says. “It’s  _ right there. _ ”

Hes abandons that train of thought to think very hard about how she could make the best pun about zodiacs before Barney does. She’s getting that weird feeling again, kind of like pride but more nauseating, that only crops up when it’s over seventy degrees but not over eighty-five, when nobody’s even a little in danger and things are just  _ working,  _ this thing she made, these people. Hes wants to remember everything, she wants to remember everything forever.

But the feeling only lasts a second, because then Diane comes sweeping in with a barrel of sprinkles under each arm and she says  _ what are we talking about  _ and Hes’ whole brain short-circuits so she looks at Diane’s bangs and the curve of her jaw and her eyelashes and says  _ stars,  _ like an idiot, and Wren is pretending to throw up in the batter behind Diane’s back, and Hes stops having time to feel anything because they need to get these cookies in the oven before the Deering cabin gets eaten. 

* * *

“What if we made her a cupcake?” Hes says. They’re currently knee-deep in ghost squirrels, and Hes has a sword in each hand. “We wouldn’t have to say that it’s a birthday cupcake. It could be a normal cupcake that people give their friends.”

Mackenzie, somehow, has  _ two  _ swords in each hand, and her combat style has devolved into spinning around like a ceiling fan. “You’ve never given me a normal friendship cupcake.”

“I would if I didn’t know when your birthday was.” 

“You could always forget.”

“I wouldn’t,” Hes insists. She has a killer memory. She can’t get anyone to play James Bond with her anymore.

“WREN!” Emily screeches. “GET THE EXORCISM BOOK!”

“WHY AM I ALWAYS THE ONE WHO HAS TO READ THE EXORCISM BOOK,” Wren yells back.

“You’re right,” Mackenzie says, nudging away a particularly angry-looking chipmunk with her foot. “You wouldn’t forget my birthday, because there’s a core of thoughtfulness and consideration and people who, like, take bugs outside instead of swatting them with newspapers underneath your contradictorily sleeveless sweatshirt. Would the cupcake be chocolate or vanilla?”

“Chocolate,” Hes says immediately, trying to use her left-hand sword to herd the rodent poltergeists out of her way. “And I would sneak out and get a bag of sour gummy worms from the convenience store, to put on top.”

“That’s important,” Mackenzie says. “The faint taste of rule-breaking is really gonna sell her on it.”

“WELL, MAYBE YOU SHOULD’VE THOUGHT ABOUT THE EXORCISM BOOKS YOU MIGHT HAVE TO READ WHEN YOU DECIDED TO TAKE LATIN IN MIDDLE SCHOOL,” Emily yells.

“I just don’t want to push it if she’s uncomfortable,” Hes says. “I don’t really know where all her buttons are, these days.”

Hes totally used to know where Diane’s buttons were, because Diane’s buttons were the most glaringly obvious part of her. But that was before--that was before Hes even  _ knew  _ she was friends with a Greek god, back when she sort of assumed that Diane had been alive a normal number of years and typically lived in a normal place, like Wisconsin. Hes would’ve put  _ money  _ on Wisconsin.

Everything’s kinda janked up now, though. It’s not all that obvious, but it’s there. Hes is used to worrying about supernatural stuff, but now there’s an added element of wondering whether the monster she’s fighting is, like, Diane’s cousin. Or if she’s going to find another magical artifact that puts them all in jeopardy and that Diane’s known about for  _ years.  _

Or if the next stunt they pull is going to end in Diane getting taken away again.

“You could ask her,” Mackenzie says, completely reasonably. 

“Ew,” Hes says. “Communication.”

“I HAD NO THOUGHTS IN MY BRAIN IN MIDDLE SCHOOL AND YOU KNOW IT,” Wren shouts. She’s hanging onto one of the columns with all her strength while an army of ghost squirrels tries to pull her into an open trapdoor. “IF I GET POSSESSED BECAUSE I NEEDED A LANGUAGE CREDIT--”

Emily yanks the Exorcism Book out of her bag and throws it across the room. “IF YOU DON’T WANNA BE POSSESSED, CONSIDER DOING SOME EXORCISING.”

“This whole cabin is nuts,” Mackenzie says, winking at Hes. Hes briefly considers burning their whole supply of Pungeon Master badges when they get back to the cabin--oh no, so sad, no more Pungeon Masters--but then she and Mackenzie have to close ranks to keep the squirrels from latching onto Wren’s fishnets.

_ “Ego eieci te malum de pila furrure _ ,” Wren mumbles. “Uh . . . shoot,  _ canes ad infernum impletur _ . Dibs on not doing this next time.”

“Dibs on not being here next time,” Hes says, trying to shake a set of determined ghost teeth off of her ankle. 

“Dibs on first shower when we get back to the cabin,” Mackenzie contributes. 

Wren slams the book shut. Fifty-six undead rodents crackle and dissipate like static, leaving a faint smoldering smell of burnt walnuts and a  _ lot  _ of sticky ghost spit on the ankles of Hes’ pants. She’s already had to do laundry twice this week because apparently the Venn diagram of people who spend time around the Roanokes and people who have used up three rolls of quarters on the washing machines in one month is  _ a circle. _

_ “Nuts!”  _ Emily crows from somewhere behind the pillars of smoke. “I just got that!”

* * *

Dinner, kicking Mackenzie’s ankles under the table with a rubbery mouthful of corn. Announcements--nothing Hes needs to write in her little notebook under  _ Tell Vanessa.  _ Diane slides in twenty minutes late with soot on her chin and a tear in the shoulder of her shirt, looking angry but not quite set-the-saltshaker-on-fire-with-her-EYES angry yet. 

“Don’t freakin’ ask,” she instructs. “I never want to see another mobile tree root again.”

“You might just be able to make that happen,” Hes says, trying not to stare. 

“Holy Hestia.” Diane yanks a hair tie out and shakes her head. She grabs her grimy plastic cup and downs her pink lemonade in one swallow. “It wasn’t even a camper this time, it was Rosie’s weird ex-wife who stumbled into a  _ labyrinth  _ and wanted to ask me a  _ million  _ questions but couldn’t do it without reactivating an ancient curse even though that’s like, Forest 101.”

Hes takes a moment to slot Diane’s amalgamation of nicknames, hyperbole, and faux-apathy into a story she can follow. “You mean Abigail?”

“Yeah, her.” Diane immediately gets down to the business of forcing as many lukewarm peas into her mouth as possible. “‘Fee’s so  _ ‘londe.”  _

“. . . Yeah,” Hes says. “Also wildly into dynamite. Sounds like a tough day.”

“It’s whatever,” Diane says, which is  _ exactly  _ the same thing she said the last nine times Hes tried to express concern for her schedule, newly-packed with strange mythical happenings. “My dad’s jerkbutt soul would literally evacuate his immortal geezer body if he knew I was sharing all our secrets with a bunch of mortals, so it’s kinda my sacred duty now.”

“Abigail seems nice,” Barney offers, piling black watermelon seeds into a folded napkin at their elbow. “Sorry about the ancient curses.”

“I’m used to it.” Diane considers her next spoonful of peas, and then flings it at Mackenzie. 

“You never tell  _ me  _ godly secrets,” Mackenzie says. “I would totally use them for good and not evil. Right, Wren?”

“I would use them for evil,” Wren says, not looking up from the comic she borrowed from Mal two days ago. 

“I would use my godly secrets to stop Wren from using her godly secrets for evil,” Mackenzie continues brightly. “She can become my nemesis, like in  _ Ultra Alligator Infants.” _

“I’m down,” Wren says. “I can get my Primary Adversary badge.”

Diane tilts her head. “That one makes a lot more sense now that I’ve met Abigail.”

_ “Right?”  _ Hes says. The first day she arrived at camp, she’d looked into the woods and thought,  _ I bet the lesbians in there are really weird,  _ and now she feels fairly vindicated.

“Oh, hey!” Emily says to Mackenzie and Wren. “That totally reminds me, I was talking to Layla from Roswell, and she said that  _ she  _ thought the way Frida was acting in episode eleven was because she actually got possessed by the Caiman. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“Wait, really?”

_ “Dang,  _ that makes sense.”

Diane is eating like someone who definitely missed lunch. Hes can’t really--stop noticing things like that, even though she tries not to care. Hes likes that Diane has stuff to keep her busy, and not only because having a role might prevent her jerk  _ dad  _ from deciding her time here is up. But Diane is eating like someone who missed lunch, and the mashed potatoes are kinda good but mostly watery, and suddenly Hes can’t stand any of it. 

She almost straight-up turns to Diane and says  _ I hate that you’re hungry, I hate that you’re tired, I hate that you were hunting through stupid labyrinths instead of exorcising ghost squirrels with the rest of us, do you want more corn?  _

Instead, she shovels mealy cantaloupe into her mouth and waits for her stomach to untwist before swallowing. It’s almost dusk, which means catching green-and-purple fireflies in mason jars until the cabin swells with pulsing glowstick light, like sleeping in the heart of some alien tunnel. Listening, after lights-out, for the sound of Barney getting out of bed to release the bugs once they think everyone’s asleep. And Hes will wait, eyes half-closed, until the smell of mosquito repellant and potting soil and Emily’s absurd energy-drink concoctions reminds her to unclench the small of her shoulders, stretch her toes to the opposite wall, and sleep. 

“Hes,” Diane says. She’s halfway through some story about her mom, a lake in Greece, and a whole cityful of angry frogs, and her eyes are very bright. “Hey. Earth to Hes.”

_ “Moon  _ to Hes, more like!” Barney says, and is immediately barraged by high-fives from the rest of Hes’ terrible, terrible cabin. 

“Sorry?” Hes says. When she picks up her lemonade, it leaves a ring on the table. It looks like the corona of some planetary body, effortlessly throwing back the light from the ceiling. 

“You need more sleep,” Diane informs her, gleeful. “You totally spaced out there.”

“Yeah,” Hes says, “well, I woke up an hour earlier than I needed to this morning because  _ somebody  _ made the alarm clock sing All Star.”

“I said I was sorry like, twice,” Diane says. “Definitely at least one time. There was for sure three-quarters of an apology in there if not more.”

“Whatever,” Hes says. “Take some more chickpeas, you need the protein.”

Diane laughs, but it’s not her mean laugh, and it’s not even her pretending-to-be-mean laugh. She takes more chickpeas. 

Wren and Emily, who have spent the last ten minutes writing out a possible script for the next episode of  _ Ultra Alligator Infants  _ on the back of a napkin, pause to survey their work. 

“Needs more zeppelins,” Barney supplies from the other end of the table.

“There’s not normally this many blimps, in canon,” Wren says. 

“Ooh! How about a dirigible?” Emily says. “Or two dirigibles? Maybe like, four or five dirigibles to be safe.”

Mackenzie, the only person in the cabin who spends any time paying attention to what Hes says ever, winks at her in that terrible way she does where she doesn’t seem to realize that both her eyes are closed. Then, she turns to the writers’ room at the end of the table and declares, “This show has been woefully devoid of hot-air balloons. Let’s fix that.”

Diane eats every bite on her plate, and then she gets more, catching Hes’ eye over the rim of the bowl. There’s something ancient in her smile, but also something brand new--young, shiny, learning how to stand on its own.

* * *

Emily catches up to Hes after Ultimate Ultimate Frisbee with the Sasquatches and pushes a note into her hand. 

“What is this?” Hes asks.

“Shh!” Emily throws a wild glance to either side of her, even though there’s nobody else around. Louder, with an almost theatrical emphasis, she calls, “Race you to the showers, Hes!”

“I’m not racing,” Hes says. She’s moved past bewilderment--actually, she moved past bewilderment on her third day as a member of the Zodiac Cabin, and now resides permanently in the neighborhood of Vague Resignation. “I just wrestled a seven-foot-tall evolutionary superathlete to the ground for a disc of plastic. I’m walking.”

Emily sprints off. 

The note reads HI HES! :) PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET ME COME WITH YOU ON YOUR SECRET MISSION TO THE CONVENIENCE STORE TO BUY DIANE SECRET BIRTHDAY CRIME GUMMIES BECAUSE I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SOLVE THE SPHINX’S RIDDLES EXCEPT FOR MOLLY AND IF YOU BRING A ROANOKE YOU MIGHT FALL INTO A PARALLEL DIMENSION THX LOVE EMILY. PS WE LEAVE AT THE WITCHING HOUR! <3

“It was just an  _ idea,”  _ Hes says to the sky. “Because I don’t know her birthday. It’s not weird.”

“If you say it’s not weird, that makes it not weird,” agrees a passing Sasquatch loyally.

“Thank you!” Hes says. She unfolds the note again, rubs the bone-white creases and the lining of the letters. At least it’s just her and Emily. Emily can be discreet, when she needs to be, and she is scary good at the riddles.

Hes rereads the note, and this time her eyes land on the last sentence.

_ Fine.  _ Her, Emily, and Wren.

* * *

“I want to guess,” Wren says.

“We don’t have time for you to guess,” Hes says. She swats, halfheartedly, at the mosquitoes alighting on her wrist.

“Let her guess,” Emily says, loyal to a fault. 

“Is it a river?” Wren says. “No--a waterfall.”

The sphinx draws her lips back into a predatory grin. “Is that your final answer? Because if you’re wrong,” her massive tail swats the air, and she stretches out until her nose is inches from Wren’s, “I get to  _ eat you.” _

Wren looks utterly unconcerned by this. “I’m gonna go with an estuary.”

The sphinx laughs, opening her mouth all the way. Even this far in the summer, there are things Hes won’t ever get used to, like the gummy too-close heat of something about to eat you. Spittle collects on the corners of the sphinx’s lips, like tiny stars. 

_ “Incorrect,”  _ she hisses, voice dripping with gleeful disdain.

“Dang,” Wren says. “Best three out of five?”

The sphinx looks legitimately homicidal, so Hes nudges Emily forward. 

“It’s a soft-boiled egg,” Emily says without looking up from the ant crawling across her wrist. “Cut that out, Yasmine. I know we don’t have the best history, but that’s no excuse.”

The sphinx sniffs. “The  _ last  _ time you came through was a mockery to everything I stand for. Excuse me for wanting to get a little human-eating out of it.”

The last time they had come through, Diane had claimed to know exactly how to deal with every mythological beast on the planet, and had answered every riddle with _your mom._ Hes still shudders to think about it.

“I know,” Emily says soothingly. “And I can tell you put a lot of effort into your craft, and it really pays off. Did you read that book I got you?”

Hes catches Wren’s eye and makes a covert  _ get a move on  _ gesture. Wren trips over her own combat boots in her haste to obey. They slip into the shadows that run along the ribbon of road, unnoticed by the sphinx. Hes can see the neon of the Shell station up ahead.

“I don’t know,” the sphinx says. “There was some good material there, but I thought the one about the three mothers and their daughters was uninspired. You need to build more of a world, y’know?”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Emily says sagely, and then she catches sight of Hes’ increasingly frantic  _ get a move on  _ arm-windmilling. “Gosh, Yasmine, wouldja look at the time? I’ve gotta jet.”

“Go,” the sphinx says, begrudgingly waving them aside.

The three of them sprint down the road. It’s one of the tributes to childhood that Hes really loves--running in the heat, functionally barefoot, despite being in no particular rush. It’s an unspoken thing that Hes sees all over camp. Kids need to  _ get places,  _ to  _ do something,  _ to feel brave and quick and untethered. The moon is a perfect half-fingernail, casting off rings like ripples in a lake. The cicadas are singing blue murder to either side.

They crash into the gas station, one after the other, giggling against the glass doors. The shock of A/C cranked up to high leaves Hes feeling giddy, invincible, like there’s no surface keeping her body in one place. 

“Jerome,” Wren calls to the bored-looking teen behind the counter. “I was hoping that you could answer some very fast questions about your place and year of origin. Did you come from an egg by chance?”

“Leave him alone,” Hes says half-heartedly. Jerome is the most normal person Hes has ever met, so Wren and Mackenzie have a bet about what kind of folkloric creature he’s going to turn out to be. It’s the sort of thing a good counselor would discourage, but alas, Hes is a fourteen-year-old with a nondescript leadership position, and she’s really curious. 

“I don’t mind,” Jerome says. He’s hanging upside down over his wheelie chair and reading  _ Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.  _ “S’cool. I got birthed, not hatched.”

Wren immediately jumps in with a few follow-up questions while Hes and Emily examine the candy section. 

“Sour, I think,” Hes says after a long moment. “She likes the red and blue ones best.”

“The red and blue ones are objectively the best,” Emily agrees, grabbing three packs. “I don’t know why they make other kinds. Also, if Diane’s birthday is coming up I need like, fifty-two hours’ advance notice to pull together something cool.”

“What kind of cool thing?” Hes says, momentarily forgetting that Diane’s birthday is not actually information she has. “Will there be fire?”

“Nowhere  _ bad,”  _ Emily says, suddenly looking very interested in the M&Ms. “No one even uses the squash courts.”

“Come on,” Hes says. “If Rosie catches us she’s gonna feed us to the Roc.”

“When has Rosie  _ ever  _ caught anyone doing  _ anything,”  _ Emily says.

“I know,” Hes says. “It would be really embarrassing for you to be the first.”

Hes doesn’t have any cash, but Jerome usually accepts payment in the form of mermaid albums, of which Hes has the new techno remix. He’s still amiably answering questions about how many ribs he has when Hes slides it across the counter. 

“Oh,  _ sweet,”  _ Jerome says. “Yeah, take whatever you want.”

So this is how the Grand Zodiac Candy Heist ends, Hes thinks as she stuffs gummies under her sweatshirt. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. 

* * *

Barney appears at the foot of Hes’ bed the next morning like an angel or deathbed vision. Mysteriously, they have acquired a bag of cake flour and a pre-oiled muffin tin.

“Going-away gift from the Scouting Lads,” they say once Hes’ eyes are fully open. “I’ve been so  _ busy  _ here, I don’t get to use it nearly as much as I’d like.”

This harebrained, half-imagined idea of Hes’ is now beginning to seem kind of like a Plan. Plans make Hes wary, because they often involve sparklers and bribes to supernatural entities and, in very desperate situations,  _ Roanokes.  _

But surely not. It’s just a normal friendship cupcake.

“Barn,” Hes says into her pillow. “What  _ time  _ is it.”

“Most bakers wake up before the sun, you know,” Barney says. “It’s one of the fundamental principles of bakeries. And, um, most of the staff are still sleeping so we’d have full run of the kitchen.”

Barney looks appropriately abashed at this proposed rule-stretching, but Hes can see the terrifying little ember of carnage in their eyes. Whether it was created by the Zodiacs or just uncovered by them, the world may never know. 

“Check the eggs before you crack ‘em,” she advises, pulling herself out of bed as gingerly as she remembers her grandma moving.  _ That’s  _ a horrifying thought. If anything was going to age her prematurely, it would be this summer. “You never know what might come out.”

“Oh,  _ ew _ ,” Barney says in a voice that’s 5% fear, 13% disgust, and 82% unadulterated glee. 

It’s dark outside, and still cool enough for the grass to dip with dew. Hes is in her pajamas, feet bare, trying not to look at the moon. She tries to identify the birdcalls from the woods as she walks, like her mom taught her, but she loses track fast and it all becomes a deep, velvet drone inside her skull. 

They climb through the cracked window of the mess hall, stepping onto the bridge of each other’s clasped hands without discussing it. The room is wide and badly-lit, and smells like everything else at camp smells, mosquito repellant and spray-on sunscreen and Gatorade. Barney is, infuriatingly, humming “All Star.”

Hes whisks the dry ingredients while Barney cracks eggs, spooning shell out of the mixture with a gentle and practiced hand. Barney tries out their knock-knock joke repertoire on Hes, because she doesn’t like to show it but she’s a  _ really  _ easy laugh and her cabin takes advantage of this at every opportunity. 

“You know,” Barney says, when Hes has stopped cackling at the one about the interrupting Kraken, “I think it’s sweet that you’re doing this for Diane.”

“I’m not doing this for Diane, why would I do it for Diane?” Hes says automatically, even though she’s got an oven mitt on each hand and was not two minutes ago trying to remember whether Diane prefers chocolate or rainbow sprinkles.

“Okay,” Barney says. They don’t laugh, even though it looks like they totally want to, and that cements their spot as Hes’ favorite. “But the cupcake is for Diane, right? To make up for her not having a birthday?”

“It’s not a birthday cupcake,” Hes says. “I don’t think she would want one of those. If . . . if Diane wants something to be made a big deal of, she’s gonna make a big deal of it herself, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Barney says, sounding thoughtful. 

“It’s more like . . .” how to describe it? It’s like a hole. It’s like a glitter bomb. It’s something in the back of her throat, the trench of her chest. It’s like a sun. It’s like the eight minutes between when the sun explodes and when everyone dies. It’s not love. It’s not love, not yet, but it’s a living thing. It grows. 

“You ever just really, really want someone to have a good day?” Hes settles on. She turns back to the batter, pokes at the lumps with a spoon. “More than you’ve ever wanted anything for yourself?”

Barney hauls themselves onto the counter. “I’ve always thought that’s sort of what a birthday is.”

“Oh,” Hes says. “Yeah, sort of. I just--she shouldn’t have to  _ do  _ anything to have a good day. She’s always doing stuff. Have you noticed that? She’s like, on quests all the time.”

Barney hums. “She said that she met Abigail yesterday?”

Hes’ poking of the batter gets a little more aggressive. “Yeah.”

“What was Abigail doing out in the forest?”

“I don’t know,” Hes says. Why are they talking about Abigail now? “Supernatural research? She was looking for a labyrinth.”

“Rosie mentioned a labyrinth at the last breakfast meeting,” Barney says lightly. “You think it’s the same labyrinth?”

“Barn, if you make me think about how many labyrinths are probably on this property, I’ll cry. I really will.”

“Okay, okay,” Barney says, laughing. “I’m just saying . . . sometimes it’s hard to accept forgiveness when you feel like you’ve hurt someone you care about. Sometimes it’s easier to just try to atone.”

“What?” Hes says, and then she gets it. “That’s--she doesn’t have to atone for anything. Just her being here is--is good. It’s good, she shouldn’t have to earn it.”

“I’m making assumptions,” Barney says. “I don’t know. But sometimes it’s hard to be a good person. I don’t know if Diane’s ever had a reason to try before.”

Hes doesn’t know where Diane lives. Up in the clouds? At the top of a mountain in Greece? She tries to imagine a big, empty house where everyone is cruel to each other. Where you have to be the loudest, the cruelest, just to keep yourself upright. And then you have to stay that way, forever. 

Being a god sounds lonely. Hes has always thought that.

“I want her to have a really good day,” Hes says again. “Like, really good. What else does Diane like? Capture-the-flag? Board games? Pop punk bands from 1994?”

The oven beeps, and Barney slides the cupcakes in. “I know you have a list of things Diane likes in your notebook. You have a page for everyone.”

“I’m a counselor,” Hes says with dignity. “All counselors have that. It’s like knowing who’s allergic to tree nuts, it just makes sense.”

“O Captain, my Captain,” Barney says dryly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

The sun is fully up now, which means not only that they have about twenty minutes before someone catches them, but that the kitchen is beginning to crack with light, hollowed out completely by pale gold. Barney looks uncomplicatedly happy, legs swinging from the countertop. There’s frosting smeared on the edges of their fingers. 

“Whatever,” Hes hears herself say. “I’ll think of something.”

* * *

The DIANE page of Hes’ notebook is actually pretty blank. Hes opens it, daringly, as she’s facedown in her bunk around three pm on what feels like a Sunday but probably isn’t. Mackenzie’s playing a version of solitaire that involves a lot of jumping jacks, and Emily and Diane are crosslegged on the floor, ranking the best episodes of the 1970s  _ Star Jump  _ based on three criteria: ridiculousness of the special effects, lack of overt colonialist themes, and subtextual lesbianism.

“Season four let us down,” Diane says, as Hes clicks her pen and doodles wide, sweeping sine waves in the margins. “It’s like, sorry for wanting some actual character development after watching thirty-one episodes of Boys in Spandex Shooting Lasers.”

“But the  _ worldbuilding,”  _ Emily says. This debate has been going on for most of the summer, and has gone nowhere. Whenever it seems like it’s winding down, Wren jumps in saying, “unpopular opinion, but the finale was good actually,” and sets it all off again. Hes is 80% sure that Wren doesn’t even know what  _ Star Jump  _ is, but she likes to sow discord in general. 

“Worldbuilding means nothing if the audience can’t relate to the people experiencing it! We’ve talked about this!” Diane insists. 

Idly, Hes scratches  _ good character development  _ onto the page, and then crosses it out when she remembers some of the other shows Diane has Opinions about, many of which are painfully bad and some of which Hes suspects haven’t existed for centuries. Diane has a lot of thoughts about Euripedes. 

“We can  _ so  _ relate to them!” Emily says. “They’re filled with--with wonder, for the world, and they’re really excited to meet new people and learn about new civilizations! That’s not  _ nothing,  _ Diane, just the fact that they’re on the ship tells us a lot about the characters.”

“I relate to the one who has the sword,” Mackenzie says, mostly to Hes. 

Hes puts down her pencil. “Do you have a sword?”

“I’m just saying, I think it’s a relatable character archetype.”

“How many swords do you have, Mackenzie?”

“I have a normal number of swords,” Mackenzie says, “not that it’s any of your business, frankly. I’m allowed to have opinions about television.”

“Not if they’re wrong,” Diane says with surprising intensity. “I heretofore put a ban on all wrong opinions about  _ Star Jump  _ in this cabin. Legislate it, Hes.”

“You can’t abuse Cabin Legislature like that,” Hes says. “It’s the only thing that keeps us together. If not for Cabin Legislature, nothing would be left of us except for a few loose Cheetos and Wren’s Silly Bandz collection.”

“That’s fair,” Emily says. She takes the pen back from Diane and writes something else on the much-disputed list.

Diane glances down at it, and then nods. “That was actually a really good episode.”

“See?” Emily says. “Season four has some redeeming qualities.”

“I just like that they put that dog in that costume and called it an alien.”

Emily winces, but she’s smiling. “I know you do.”

Hes bites back a grin. She turns back to her notebook and jumps when she sees Mackenzie’s face inches away, peering through the slats in the bunk bed and very obviously trying to read the page upside down.

“That’s private,” Hes objects weakly, but she’s not too worried. Her handwriting’s way small and 80% cursive, so her secrets are generally safe.

Mackenzie reaches through the gap in the headboard, picks up Hes’ pencil, and writes  _ dogs in funny hats. _

Hes tries to look stern, but it lasts for about two seconds before she starts laughing. “Thanks, Mackenzie.”

“Anytime.” Mackenzie taps the pencil against the mattress thoughtfully, then starts to doodle a dog with a sword in the margins of Hes’ notes. 

Hes wrestles the pencil back and gives the dog a pair of cool sneakers. “Go back to your solitaire.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Mackenzie says. “I’ve been cheating pretty egregiously for the last twenty minutes, and between you and me, it’s taken some of the excitement out of things.”

Diane lifts her head with a look in her eye like she’s about to drop a devastatingly snarky comment, but then Barney and Wren come crashing in all aflutter about some suspicious-looking toadstools, and the cabin is wrapped into comfortable chaos again.

* * *

On the way back from the resulting expedition, half-listening to Wren and Emily debate about what kind of mushrooms the Mario power-ups are, Hes is caught by Diane, who looks uncharacteristically nervous.

“I’m not dissing the Cabin Legislature at all, because I would never do anything like that and I think it’s a good idea really, even though I complain about it a lot, but it’s not the thing that holds our cabin together. That’s you. You know that right?” she says in one breath.

Hes blinks at her. “I’m what?”

“I don’t want you to think,” Diane starts, and then visibly changes tracks. “It’s just a piece of paper. You’re the one who like, comes up with all that stuff and you write it down because you have the best handwriting even though it’s way small and 80% cursive and I just. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re really good at--stuff.”

“I--hey, Diane, I really appreciate that,” Hes says, but Diane is already charging ahead with a shout of “It’s  _ obviously  _ a fly agaric, you  _ morons-- _ ” and in the sun she looks like she could be a figure painted onto a vase in a museum or something, or woven into a basket, or sketched onto a cave wall with chalk. All the most human parts of history, everything so completely worth preserving. 

* * *

On weekends, Hes goes to Rosie’s cabin and borrows her  _ massive  _ laptop to Skype Vanessa. It’s one of the weirder parts of Hes’ extremely weird routine, because Rosie is always both in the mood for conversation and elbow-deep in some magical research project. 

This time, Hes bypasses the main room entirely (Rosie has her hands wrapped around the bridle of what appears to be a ghost camel, which is drooling an alarming shade of orange all over the floor) and grabs the computer off the desk. It’s so stupid big. Rosie needs to like, get an iPad. She has an administrative position at a whole summer camp, what is she doing with a computer from 2006?

“Your cabin been giving you any trouble?” Rosie calls. Her voice is slightly muffled by the protective gear she’s wearing.

Hes tenses. The phrase  _ your cabin  _ makes her feel ugly and protective and sick with pride. The idea of anything here being hers is laughable, but she doesn’t know what else to call them. Her cabin. Her people. “No, ma’am.”

“Good.” The sharp sound of the circular saw turning on. “Tell Vanessa to come to dinner soon, all right? I’ll wrangle Abby in from the labyrinth and make ratatouille.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Thanks. You remember the password?”

Rosie’s password is Z9de45!ssTy77$2L39b@@@@@@@4. When Hes tried to hack into the WiFi so Barney could stream  _ The Muppet Movie _ , she learned that this is Rosie’s password for literally everything. All the other Zodiacs think that Hes really respects Rosie, as is befitting a fourteen-year-old with a nondescript leadership position, but it’s simply not true. 

Hes has to sit on top of three encyclopedias on top of Rosie’s desk to make the most of the shoddy cell service, but eventually the screen crackles to life, and Hes is face-to-face with what appears to be a living mountain goat.

“Um,” Hes says. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing anyone’s turned into this week, per se, but she really super doesn’t want to deal with this right now. “Hi, Vanessa.”

There’s a distant crashing sound from off camera, and then Vanessa’s actual human face pops up. “Ah! Hi, Hes! Sorry, let me--Clementine’s been really interested in my hotspot lately, she thinks it’s a shiny piece of food.” They nudge the goat out of the way, and then shoot Hes a brilliant smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Clementine,” Hes says diplomatically. Clementine gives Hes a long, baleful look, and then bleats and butts Vanessa’s shoulder.

“Ah, someone’s upset with me.” Vanessa makes a vague attempt to pat down her hair, then abandons ship just as quickly. “My fault. Shouldn’t’ve pulled the stunt with the peanut. Hes! Hello! How are things?”

“Things are pretty good,” Hes says. She thinks, briefly, about fungi and cupcake batter and tripping over a log and spilling sixteen packets of sour gummy worms out of her sweatshirt pocket while Emily and Wren laughed for an unnecessarily long time. “Yeah. I mean, I think we’ve gotten into a good groove.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Vanessa says. Clementine is chewing on their hair, and she doesn’t appear to notice. “You are absolutely overflowing with groove, Hes. I have known that since the day we met. I know you were a little worried about Diane last week. Has that sorted itself out?”

Hes doesn’t want to say  _ not really,  _ because Rosie is right in the other room and her hearing is probably really good after years of holding counselor meetings while simultaneously running construction equipment. And Diane didn’t seem to mind all that much, and Hes knows she didn’t really like camp activities anyway, so maybe it’s good that she has something to do. Maybe all of this is good, and Hes is the only one being weird about it. 

“Yeah, kinda,” she says instead. “She was excavating a labyrinth with Abigail the other day. It sounded exciting.”

“Was there dynamite involved?”

“Not to my knowledge?” Hes says.

“Good. I don’t want to have to read Abigail the riot act about explosives and campers. I mean, she gets it, she doesn’t want to do any of you kiddos harm, but does she  _ get-it  _ get it? Who can say?”

“Uh,” Hes says, not feeling particularly reassured.

“Diane can handle herself,” Vanessa says. “Lord knows she shouldn’t have to, but she can. How about Barney? Barney doing okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine,” Hes says. “Settling in really well. They, uh.” Is this crossing a line? Where even are the lines with Vanessa anymore? “They really want to meet you.”

“Oh man,  _ ditto.”  _ Vanessa says. They’re absently patting Clementine’s head, while she continues to gnaw on their hair. “Ditto to the thousandth degree. They seem astronomically amazing. I just don’t know how feasible it is at the moment.”

“Where even  _ are  _ you?” Hes says, because the signal is spottier than usual and also,  _ mountain goats.  _

“Ah, jeez. I’m . . . I’m someplace I hope you never find yourself,” Vanessa says, and Hes doesn’t want to think about that, can’t think about that. There’s this awful tone that creeps into Vanessa’s voice whenever they talk about . . . whatever it is she’s doing. It’s a little like fear, except harder. Like whatever fear becomes after it all gets squeezed out, after there’s no room for fear anymore but there never was room for anything else. 

Hes focuses on the goat. The goat is cute.

“Are you looking for something?” Hes says. Clementine is watching her, big unblinking eyes. Eyes like steel slopes. Eyes like the sky in the background, pale blue and bitter cold. Hes looks away first.

“Hes.” Now Vanessa’s voice is purposefully gentle, but she can’t hide the undercurrent of something-else, or maybe Hes has just gotten really good at picking up on it. Both options seem equally bad. “You know I can’t tell you that. I can’t put that on you.”

“We can help,” Hes says. She has to lower her voice, because this is often the point when Rosie comes over and says that maybe it’s time to go join her cabin for afternoon activities, okay? And Hes can’t exactly say  _ no, not okay,  _ because. Well. 

She needs to be allowed to keep doing this. She needs to see Vanessa’s face, bright and sunburned and lips kind of chapped from the cold and hair slick with goat-spit, and  _ real  _ and not at all like the fluid thing that shows up in her nightmares, sometimes.

“You’re doing so good,” Vanessa says. “You’re all doing so good. You’ve done some really hard things this summer, and I’m not invalidating that for a second. I’m super duper impressed. Don’t think I think you’re weak.”

Hes rubs the taut skin of her wrists. Tries to fill up her chest with something other than the static at the corners of the screen and the feeling that she’s too far away from everything, from the whole world, like she’s floating in space and watching the oceans burn. “What  _ do _ you think?”

“I think,” Vanessa begins, and then stops. She chews at a thumbnail, bitten down so far that it looks like a waning moon in time-lapse, the ragged shadow of the distal edge. “I think the world of you. I think that--I  _ know  _ that I’m the weak one. If you went up against some of the stuff I’ve been dealing with, you would handle it beautifully, and it would kill me. Just to see you--just to see you even try.”

Hes closes her eyes. Imagines the world ending right now, as she perches precariously in Rosie’s cabin. Imagines the roof coming down on her head, caving her in with this animalistic well of grief lodged in her stomach. 

“Hes,” Vanessa says. They’re even quieter now, and the wind has picked up somewhere behind her. 

Hes can’t look at Vanessa, so she stares at the flat slate of sky behind them instead, the slow-morphing crown of sun over the rock. She won’t let it deceive her, all this terrible world-ending beauty.  _ You are an evil place,  _ she thinks to the rocks and the sky and even Clementine, who probably doesn’t deserve it.  _ How is it fair that I catch purple fireflies and play games with Sasquatches and get to have the Zodiac Cabin and all she has is you and whatever awful thing you’re hiding? _

“Be safe,” Hes blurts. “I don’t care how safe you’re being, be safer. Be at least 40% safer.”

“Sound advice, scout,” Vanessa says. “You follow it yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” Hes says, and then Rosie is coming over, still half-covered in hazmat gear and Clementine is bleating at the new arrival.

“Good to see you, Vanessa,” Rosie says. Her hands are shoved in her pockets, even still dripping with camel spit. “Hope you can make it to dinner soon. Abigail’s been asking about you.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa says, sounding inhumanly tired. “Soon.”

The call ends, and Rosie says something quiet that Hes only half-hears because she’s staring at the dark screen and thinking about how Vanessa only calls her  _ scout  _ when things are really, really bad.

* * *

Hes leaves Rosie’s cabin still feeling like everything is crashing down, which is a ridiculous way to feel every week on the dot. Her shoes are untied and the Band-Aid on her left knuckle is coming off and flapping in the wind, and it hurts like a piece of skin. The sky is white and hard as teeth. Like sometimes happens on days like today, days so warm and unbearably packed-together that Hes doesn’t even have a word for it, she’s reminded of a closed mouth. Any minute now, it could open. 

Any minute now the thing on the mountain could come take what Hes loves away.

Hes passes the activity tent just as some papier-mache thing finishes, so she’s caught up in a stream of campers covered in dried glue. Two of them, it turns out, are Emily and Mackenzie. They’re arguing in voices too low for Hes to make out, about something that is probably inane and nonsensical and has conveniently-located hills for them both to die on, which means she’ll hear about nothing else for the next two months. 

Hes looks at them, with their unwashed hair and grass-stained clothes and the strip of paper that Emily probably doesn’t know is adhered to the back of her neck, and some kind of previously-undiscovered emotion crashes over her, almost bringing her to her knees. They’re both grinning with the remnants of an inside joke, footsteps heavy against the drying grass. 

_ Your cabin been giving you any trouble?  _ Rosie had asked, like everyone could see that this small and incredible world was something Hes was allowed to have. And Diane, too-- _ you hold us together.  _ Hes wants to grow old with these people, but first she wants to be young. She wants to scream. She wants to race down the hill and into the lake. She wants to shout-sing the camp song, but the version Diane and Mackenzie revised so that it’s mostly about a very snarky talking mollusk. She wants to do things that make no sense, and help no one, and be forgiven for it. 

But still, in the back of her head: the mountain. The angry spit of wind. 

“Hey!” Hes calls, and jogs over. She deliberately doesn’t think about the way that Mackenize and Emily’s faces both light up when they see her. She doesn’t have time for this kind of emotional revelation, darnit, she has  _ work  _ to do.

“Hey,” Hes says again, and she can feel the way her grin splits her face and she can feel the hole in her left pocket from worrying it between her fingers during a thousand bad days like this one and she still doesn’t know how to reconcile everything this place has given to her and everything it has hurt. “Emily. This is your fifty-two hours’ notice.”

Emily’s face is blank for a second, but then she grins. “Really?”

“Yes. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t!” Emily shouts, way too loud. “I totally won’t--don’t wait up, Kenzie, I’ll see you at dinner!” She sprints off towards--yep, the squash courts. 

Whatever. Rosie can deal. Nobody even uses the squash courts. 

“Mackenzie,” Hes says. “I’m going to need your help.”

Mackenzie claps Hes’ shoulder, like she’s in a superhero-team movie or something. “Lead the way,” she says, and then totally ruins it by adding, “The papier-mache minion that’s gonna end up in the cabin was definitely Emily’s idea, by the way, and I didn’t encourage her at all,” which Hes very much doubts.

They’re going to do this. Diane is going to have the best day ever. Hes is only barely a counselor, and barely a leader, and it’s starting to seem like there are a whole lot of people that she can’t help even a little bit, but she's going to make sure Diane gets everything she wants. 

* * *

“This is ridiculous,” Barney says. There has to be more stuff Diane wants than this."

They, Hes, and Mackenzie are huddled around the DIANE page of Hes’ notebook, unceremoniously ripped out and placed on the floor for extreme brainstorming purposes. So far, it remains empty save for  _ dogs with funny hats  _ and the corresponding drawing, to which Barney has solemnly added a bow tie. 

“Diane is a simple woman,” Mackenzie says. She’s lying on the ground, hair mostly covering her face, throwing a Superball into the air and catching it. “She has simple desires. Like dumping a sleeve of Mentos into the soda dispenser at the cafeteria, and beating her brother at squash.”

Hes blinks at this last, and turns to face Mackenzie. “Should I have made Emily leave the squash courts alone?”

“Shhh.” Mackenzie pats Hes’ arm. “There’s nothing to be done for it now.”

“I  _ looked  _ for Mentos,” Hes says. “The convenience store doesn’t stock them anymore.”

“Yes they do,” Barney says. “The Scouting Lads used to get them for science experiments and cabin cleanliness awards, as well as the occasional mancala game.”

There’s a long silence, at which point Barney seems to realize what they’ve said. “Maybe . . . they’re out?” they offer.

“Oh,  _ Jerome,”  _ Mackenzie coos to the ceiling. “Is someone afraid of us? Is someone afraid of getting implicated in low-level arson charges? Yes, yes you are!”

“We can find more to work off of here!” Barney says quickly. “Like . . . what’s Diane’s favorite color?”

“Mayhem,” Mackenzie says.

“Purple,” Hes corrects. 

Barney writes both on the page with a frankly adorable amount of diligence. Their tongue is poking out a little.

“Come on,” Hes says again. She’s pacing, long strides, following the crooked slat of wood on the floor. Hes isn’t normally a pacer, but everything is a little off-kilter today. She feels like a hummingbird or a shark, like she’ll die if she stops moving for even a second, like something that spends its whole life trying to keep afloat. “We know more about Diane than this! She wasn’t gone that long!”

“Diane doesn’t want people to know anything about her, dude,” Mackenzie says. “She thrives on mystery and chaos.”

“Not like  _ this _ ,” Hes says. “Not with me.”

Somewhere outside, the cicadas and the bluebirds howl in ecstatic confusion, agonizing over how to keep the summer alive. The three box fans crammed into the corner of the Zodiac Cabin putter out of sync. Mosquitoes and daddy longlegs nose at the crack under the door, open-limbed and exhausted.

Barney leans forward and wraps Hes into a hug.

Barney objectively gives the best hugs, and once Mackenzie crawls in, it’s like the most perfect safe universe that could ever exist. Hes realizes, belatedly, that she’s felt a little cold since this morning, since the clear blue slate of sky and the uncertain topography of Vanessa’s eyes. She huffs out an exhale, leans closer. Shuts her eyes against the fluttering fluorescent lights.

“Hes,” Barney says. “Don’t talk like that. You’re Diane’s best friend.”

“You don’t have to do the right thing all the time,” Mackenzie adds. “You don’t have to know everything. She’ll tell you all this junk someday because she thinks you’re the best person in, like, the universe, and she’s seen a  _ lot  _ of it. But she--all of us love you for all kinds of stuff. You know?”

Barney squeezes. “Hes. You don’t have to earn it either. Okay?”

“What?” Hes says, and then she gets it. As is often the case with Barney, they’re working on a whole other level of interpersonal intelligence. “Oh man. Is this a parallel? Is that what’s happening here?”

“You’re a fantastic counselor, Hes--”

“--fourteen-year-old with a nondescript leadership position--”

“--but we would like you just as much if you weren’t, because you’re also a fantastic person and a fantastic friend. You don’t need to earn our respect or our love or anything. That stuff’s pretty unconditional.”

“Barney,” Hes says, muffled slightly by Mackenzie’s jersey. “Vanessa really wants to meet you.”

“I want to meet them, too,” Barney says. “And I will someday. We’ve just gotta get there, okay?”

Hes doesn’t want to be crying, but she doesn’t every time get what she wants. “Okay,” she whispers, thinking about the promise in that, the implicit survival, the way everything will keep moving forward even in this place where time collapses. 

Through the gap in their arms, Hes’ eye lands on the abandoned notebook page, covered in Barney’s cursive and her own neat, cribbed writing, and Mackenzie’s all-caps scrawl. In the top corner lies their dog drawing, funny hat and all. It stares up at Hes with wide, dopey eyes.  _ They love you,  _ it says.  _ What are you gonna do about it? _

“Guys,” Hes says. “I just had an idea.”

* * *

“Hm,” Rosie says, flipping through the notebook with infinite care. “Your argument is very compelling, and this drawing of a dog in a funny hat is exemplary, but I’ll need to review the camp policies.”

She wanders over to the back room, and Wren snorts into her hand. “Since when have we had  _ camp policies? _ ”

Mackenzie shifts back onto the balls of her feet. “I have a theory that every time Rosie says she’s going to check camp policies, she’s actually back there frantically Googling  _ safe 2 let kids do this? _ ”

“Lies and slander,” Hes says. “Rosie’s computer could not handle Google even a little bit.”

“She still has that thing?” Wren says, glancing up. “She needs to, like, get an iPad.”

_ “Right?”  _ Hes says, and then they’re all laughing. It feels like someone has opened a window in Hes’ chest, and all the pressure is escaping. She imagines it as a great migration, like moths flurrying a porch light. 

It feels good. Hes is glad to be here, with her friends.

Rosie reappears from the back room and presses her hands against the desk. She leans forward at the perfect angle for the light to glint menacingly off her glasses. The whole production looks pretty intimidating, but Hes has seen her practice it alone in her cabin.

There’s a long, fraught silence. Wren picks at her nails. Mackenzie scratches the back of her neck.

“I think it’s good of you girls to do something for your cabinmate,” Rosie says finally. She probably calculated the pause length with the maximum potency. “I think we can make an exception to the rules just this once.”

“Really?” Hes says, and then corrects herself. “I mean, yes. Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“I’ll see if I can make arrangements,” Rosie continues. “I assume you want it to stay a secret from Diane?”

“That’d be great,” Wren says. “The secret-having tables will finally turn and it will be  _ glorious _ .”

“Okay,” Rosie says. She  _ finally  _ sits down, pulling out some complex, turquoise piece of knitting. “I’ll make some calls and keep you informed. As discreetly as possible, of course.”

“Of course,” Mackenzie says. “Pleasure doing business with you, Rosie.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Rosie says. “Now, I imagine you have a lot to do, and I’m sure you have every intention of showing up to craft hour, so I won’t keep you. Enjoy your bead lizards!”

They’re almost to the door before Rosie calls, “Actually, Hes? Would you hang back a minute?”

Terror flushes Hes’ spine. She takes a deep breath. She motions for Mackenzie and Wren to go on, and then it’s just Hes, and Rosie, and the moldering squares of light from the windows.

_ She’s dead,  _ Hes thinks. It’s a cold, complete certainty. Hes has been here before. She’s seen this before, exactly the way it’s playing out now. The river, the mountain, the closed mouth of sky. The way the forest itself tells her not to trust it, warnings in a language too large for her to understand.  _ Vanessa’s dead. _

Rosie places a hand on Hes’ shoulder. It’s callused--from the axe, probably--and so heavy and warm that it could be a collapsing star. Her fingers curl.

“Hes,” she says. The birds outside, begging to keep this moment safe. “I’m very, very proud of you.”

It’s less the statement and more the pure relief that knocks Hes down. She slides to the floor, and Rosie crouches with her. The two of them watch each other for a moment, curled into some strange and powerful geometry. 

“I hope you’re having a good summer,” Rosie continues, although there’s no way she doesn’t know that Hes is freaking out a little. “I hope you’re having fun with your friends. I know this place has . . . has asked a lot of you. It does the same to every generation that passes its border. It makes everyone a little older, a little warier.”

Rosie shifts back on her haunches, and then they’re both sitting, crosslegged. “This camp is a wonderful place, Hes. It attracts wonderful people. But you’re too smart not to watch for the catch. Did your grandmother teach you that?”

“She told me to remember everything and never doubt myself,” Hes hears herself say. “And I’m trying. I’m trying, Rosie.”

“A big ask,” Rosie says. “I doubt myself every day. I never know if I’m thinking of things right, or if my perception is warped by being here for so long. Abigail helps with that.”

Hes stares at the carpet. Twists the fringe with one finger. 

“When I’m with her, I remember things the way they were,” Rosie continues. “I feel younger than I have in years. More excited. Everything feels new and exhilarating. But I’m also a little more mind-blowingly terrified every second that I’m standing in the same room as her.”

“How does--how does Vanessa make you feel?” Hes manages.

Rosie runs a finger along the leg of her desk, tracing every notch and whorl of the wood. “When I see Vanessa, I feel old,” she says. “And tired.”

Rosie  _ lives  _ in this place, year-round. Can she taste the way magic changes when it goes one step too far, the stink of ozone and birds’ eggs? Does she dream about the world ending, every night a greater and redder and more beautiful cataclysm than the night before?

What would it do to you, to never be able to trust your own memories? To keep two hundred reckless kids safe every year, and every year lose more of your friends?

Hes owes this place everything, and yet she has the terrible feeling that it intends to collect its due. 

“What is Vanessa doing?” Hes says. “Why can’t they ever  _ stop?  _ Don’t they--don’t they know they have to meet Barney?”

“They know,” Rosie says. She’s right; she sounds very old, and very tired. Like Hes’ grandmother sounds sometimes, when she talks about this place. “Vanessa made a deal with herself, a long time ago, to stop certain events from coming to pass. This summer, things reached . . . a breaking point. A series of breaking points, I suppose. I had hoped she’d have a few more years.”

“They chose to go up there? They knew the risks?

Rosie’s fingers quicken against the desk leg, tracing invisible patterns into the wood. “None of us know the risks, Hes. She might never come back. She might save the camp at no irreparable cost. She might start a war. Things are . . . tenuous, where they are.”

“What is she fighting?” Hes asks. Her pulse is hammering beneath her chin. 

Rosie takes off her glasses, and sets them on the floor beside her. She regards Hes for a long moment, and then rubs the bridge of her nose. 

“Do you really want to know?” she says. “I’ll tell you. But I want you to be sure, because I’ll be directly disobeying your counselor.”

Hes has never seen Rosie without glasses on. She looks vulnerable, human in a way that she hasn’t yet this summer.

Hes stands up. She can hear Wren and Mackenzie talking, faintly, on the other side of the door. Wren says something. Mackenzie laughs, in that full-body way of hers. Hes can almost see her forehead crinkle in the shadow against the window.

“Tomorrow,” Hes says. “I’m coming back tomorrow night, and you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

Rosie looks up at her. She’s still sitting, hunched in on herself, hands fisted around the desk leg as if to keep her tethered to the planet. 

“That’s a solid plan, scout,” she says. Hes thought there was a chance that her voice would crack, because she looks smaller and tighter and more afraid than Hes has ever seen her, but it doesn’t. She sounds steady again. “Go find your cabin.”

Hes stares at her, at the desk and the artifacts behind it, at the ridiculously,  _ ridiculously  _ old laptop on which Hes confirms that her counselor is still alive every weekend.

Then she turns and walks out onto the porch.

It’s already late afternoon. The lawn is dimpled with shadow, dandelions cropping up at the edges. Somewhere over the horizon, the sun makes a single brilliant bulb of the lake.

“You okay?” Mackenzie asks immediately upon seeing her. 

“I’m fine,” Hes says, and mostly means it. “Let’s go make something awesome happen.”

“What did Rosie want to talk to you about?” Wren asks as they set off toward the Ultimate Ultimate Frisbee field.

“I’ll tell you later,” Hes says. This she definitely means. 

They’re silent for a few minutes, weaving through clumps of girls practicing archery, playing Uno, juggling river rocks, sitting and laughing in the sun. 

“I can’t believe we’re missing bead lizard day,” Wren says finally. “Emily’s gonna be devastated.”

* * *

Diane slides into the table at dinner that night with her usual dramatic sigh, and immediately chugs her cup of Sprite. 

“Hi, Diane!” Barney says. “How’s the labyrinth today?”

Diane grins. It’s her insufferably smug smile, the one that’s caused infinite arguments, one slapfight, and an unbearable amount of yelling. Hes loves it, despite herself. 

“I think we’ve got it,” she says around a mouthful of veggie burger. “Found the string and everything. The bull guy at the center was a huge dork, though.”

“You solved it?” Hes says.

Diane’s smile morphs into something bright and genuine. A little shyer. “I think so.”

“That’s  _ incredible,  _ Diane,” Hes says. “I can’t believe you got it.”

“That’s gotta be a badge,” Mackenzie points out. “What dumb name do you think it has?”

“Labyrinth and Repeat!” shouts Barney.

“Direction Connections?” Emily says.

Hes nudges Diane. “A- _ maze- _ ing.”

Diane’s blushing a little, staring determinedly at her French fries. She looks pleased with herself, like she wasn’t actually expecting to be acknowledged for something that she came in bragging about. “Okay, okay. We get it, I’m the best.”

“Yeah, you are!” Barney says.

Diane shoves the rest of her burger into her mouth in a fairly transparent attempt to stop the smile spreading across her face.

“I dunno,” she says. “Knowing Abigail, she’s gonna run into some other ridiculous nonsense that I’ll have to sort out for her tomorrow.”

“Abigail can handle herself,” Hes says. “She has a lot of dynamite at her disposal.”

“And, like, an entire room full of pirate treasure,” Barney adds. 

“Oh, man,” Mackenzie says. “You can solve literally any problem with enough money and dynamite.”

“Yeah,” Diane says, grinning over the rim of her cup. “I guess.”

“Also, she can always call Rosie,” Wren says, batting her eyes. “As a  _ last resort. _ ”

The rest of dinner devolves into further speculation into Rosie’s love life, which is one of the Zodiac Cabin’s favorite hobbies. Hes is prepared to be painfully reminded of her conversation in Rosie’s cabin, the quiet waver of Rosie’s voice, but her brain doesn’t go there. It’s a nice surprise.

When dinner wraps up, the tables around them start to stand, stack their dishes, and file out the door towards the firepit. Diane’s just pulling her jacket back on when Hes catches her elbow. 

“Hang on a sec,” Hes says. “We’ll catch up later.”

Diane blinks. She glances around at the others, all still clustered around the table. “What is this? Are we not going to the bonfire?”

“There’ll be other bonfires,” Hes says. “Rosie’s really into propane right now.”

Diane still looks uncertain, fiddling with the zipper of her jacket. “I thought you were really into all the camp activities and junk.”

“I am,” Hes says. “We planned something else, though.” She hesitates, remembering Diane’s reluctance to tell them her birthday. “If that’s okay?”

Diane glances around the empty mess hall. “Sure,” she says. “I’m excited to see what you think ranks higher than camp-sanctioned bonding activities.”

“It’s gonna knock your socks off,” Mackenzie declares. “Also, last one there is a yeti blister!”

“No fair!” shrieks Emily, taking off after her. “You need to give more advance notice than that and you know it!”

Wren and Barney trip over each other trying to get through the door at the same time, and then start sprinting, shouting with laughter.

Hes sighs. Rubs her forehead. Breathes in-- _ one, two, three _ \--and out. 

When she looks up, Diane has an arm out. “Ready to set out, cap’n?”

Hes links arms. “Absolutely,” she says. “I don’t intend to be the yeti blister.”

“You won’t be,” Diane says with a perhaps unearned level of confidence. They stroll out of the mess hall together, into the purpling dusk.

* * *

The Ultimate Ultimate Frisbee field is more beautiful than Hes could have imagined.

The sun’s almost completely behind the line of trees, and the fireflies wash everything out in their green-and-purple glow. The lake is just barely visible between the pines, a blaze of perfect gold in the setting sun.

“Oh, dang,” Diane whispers. “It’s pretty here.”

Hes squeezes her hand in response.

“Hey!” Emily comes barrelling through the trees. “You guys are finally here!” 

Barney pops out from behind a bush. “Someone cover her eyes,” they urge. “Come on, Hes, you do it.”

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” Diane says. 

“It’s okay,” Hes says. “We’ve got a surprise for you.”

Diane twists the sleeve of her jacket. “ _ Why? _ ” 

“Uh, because you’re the best and we wanted to,” Mackenzie says. “Hes, we don’t have all night.”

“Okay, okay,” Hes says. She turns to Diane. “Hey. It’ll be good. Trust me.”

Diane hesitates, then nods. “Okay.”

“Okay!” Hes says. She moves behind Diane and leans into her back, wrapping her hands around Diane’s eyes. She can hear Diane’s breath jump, almost imperceptibly. “Positions, folks!”

“Yes’m!”

“Go, go, go!”

“-- _ oof!  _ Kenzie, watch where you’re--”

“--is it time to--?”

“--guys, I think I forgot--”

“Weapons deployed! I repeat, weapons deployed!”

“--no time for--!”

An ear-piercing whistle cleaves the air. Hes can feel Diane tensing. 

And then the dogs start to bark and she  _ gasps.  _

Hes pulls her hands back. “Surprise!”

“Happy birthday!” Wren howls. She’s desperately trying to wrestle a cowboy hat onto one of Diane’s hunting dogs--possibly Doughnut, although Hes could never tell them apart. 

This sets off the rest of Hes’ ridiculous, wonderful cabin. “It’s not  _ actually  _ her birthday, Wren--”

“--yeah, Wren, it’s a  _ normal friendship day,  _ didn’t you get the memo?”

“Wren, it’s a couple months  _ at least  _ until Novembuary thirty-second--”

“Wubby,” Diane whispers, staring at her dogs. “Doughnut.” She shakes herself, and then stares at Hes. “I thought they weren’t allowed to be here--only in emergencies, and for hunting assistance--”

“I worked it out with Rosie,” Hes says. “We already have a cat, and all the tadpoles Emily’s raising in the sink. Also, someday Rosie’s moose is going to decide that he likes me better than her and he’s going to abscond. Our cabin’s kind of a menagerie already, we might as well get used to it.”

“Rosie said it’s okay as long as they’re hypoallergenic!” Barney calls, looking absurdly pleased with themselves for managing to squeeze Wubby into a beanie. “And all the cats are, so we figured that magic animals follow their own rules.”

“I get to keep them here?” Diane says. “In the cabin?”

“They’re sleeping on  _ your  _ bed,” Hes says. “Obviously. But--yeah. We figured you, uh. Deserved something good.”

Diane scratches the back of her head. “But you--you did this before I solved the labyrinth?”

“Diane,” Hes says. “It’s  _ super  _ cool that you solved the labyrinth. But you deserve good things anyway, because you’re the best and we like you a ton and you should have things that make you happy.”

Diane grabs Hes’ shoulder and pulls her into a hug.

_ Oh.  _ Barney and Kenzie are good, but they can’t hold a candle to this. Diane is the best hugger in the Zodiac Cabin.

“I  _ love  _ their hats,” Diane says into Hes’ shoulder.

Hes pats her back. “We thought you might.”

Diane untangles herself. She’s  _ beaming,  _ full-on, and Hes understands how the moon decided once, thousands of years ago, to follow her. She’s magnetic. She’s supernova-bright. 

“Go play with your dogs,” Hes says. “Have a good night, for once.”

“They’ve all been good nights,” Diane says, with an arresting amount of sincerity. Then, she stands on tiptoes and shouts, at the top of her lungs,  _ “Who’s a good boy!?” _

The resulting stampede knocks both of them down and gets hair in Hes’ mouth. She can’t bring herself to mind.

* * *

Later, when the grass gets damp and the moon broadens and the crickets are jubilantly serenading the fireflies, Diane and Hes sit against a massive sycamore with a dog sleeping on each side. They each have a cupcake, and Diane is licking frosting off her fingers.

“Hes!” Mackenzie calls. “Heads up!”

Hes looks up just as the first firework splits across the sky. 

Diane leans her head against Hes’ shoulder. Her quiet laughter makes some seismic event of Hes’ ribcage.

The fireworks are beautiful, all shades of purple and red and gold. The lake matches them beat for beat, waves of reflected color. Hes watches the sparks fall, like stars sliding out of the sky. Like the cosmos coming down to Earth to kick it for a little bit, just for fun.

Whooping and laughter drifts over from the vague direction of the squash courts.

“Thank you for this, Hes,” Diane whispers. “I’m really, really glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Hes whispers back, and then they turn and watch the sky light up. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you come to my [tumblr](https://lameyards.tumblr.com/) and tell me either something good that happened to you today or your favorite arc of lumberjanes, i'll post a piece of the Zodiac Cabin Legislature for you.
> 
> thank you for reading! <3


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